—
The rest of Loren’s shift dragged by at a snail’s pace, despite the steady foot traffic.
When the clock began ticking down the last thirty minutes, she called Mordred and Penny. The conjoined witch twins picked up on the third ring, greeting her in unison, as did most people who shared everything below the neck. Loren explained to them, for the first time since beginning her internship, that she needed an extra day off. Tomorrow, to be precise.
They immediately jumped to conclusions, talking over one another into the mouthpiece until Loren could no longer tell who was saying what.
“Are you sick, Loren?”
“Is it the flu?”
“Is it aboy?”
“Oh, you’re right, Mordred! It’sgotto be a boy.”
“You have adate,Loren?”
Where she was pacing on the second floor of the apothecary, in the large space that served as both a staffroom and an office, Loren shrugged, despite that there was no one around to see.
No one except her brown-and-black shepherd dog named Singer, who she adopted when he was an eight-week-old puppy roughly ten months ago, and who stayed here at the apothecary during the school year. Taega had made herself very clear from the moment Loren had brought Singer home that she was to find a place for him to stay by the summer for ten months out of the year. That woman was the very definition of the wordwitch.
“Yeah, sure.” Loren knelt to scratch behind Singer’s velvety ears. “A date. I have a date.” She rolled her eyes at the ridiculous thought, despite the nerves in the pit of her stomach that compelled her to glance out the window overlooking the front of the store—the space overflowing with sentient plants, cages, and crooked bookshelves—every two seconds. As if she would ever date a bounty hunter! She almost laughed.
A few more nosey questions later, and the witches agreed to give her Sunday off. Which was great, she supposed. As long as the slayer was telling the truth and she wouldn’t soon find herself gagged and bound to a chair or six feet under cold dirt.
Four thirty arrived far too soon. She flipped the sign in the window, took a steadying breath, and walked out the door.
The torrid heat of the afternoon was like the inside of an oven; it warmed her skin and turned her tongue as dry as the sunbaked ground beneath her feet. She fumbled with her keys, and when she finally twisted the deadbolt and made her way to the end of the avenue—where Darien had agreed to meet her—her pace slowed to a shuffle, and she nearly turned around.
Was she the biggest idiot in all of Terra? Or was she somehow—impossibly—the smartest? If she’d indeed gained a Devil as an ally, perhaps it was the second. But if she was falling for a trick… If the rumors floating about the streets were true, and he was as ruthless and sadistic as people claimed… Well, she supposed she would soon be in for a real treat.
But…if he meant her no harm, then maybe he could help her bring Sabrine back home.
The flashy black car—a mean-looking thing with a streamlined body that hinted at the presence of insane horsepower under the hood—was idling just around the corner. The very same car she had desperately tried to avoid only that morning.
How was it possible that so little time had passed since then?
Loren lifted a hand to block the sunlight reflecting off passing cars and the glass of the transport shelter across the street as she approached the passenger door.
Once she opened it, there would be no going back. But if she didn’t get off the street and into the car that she knew was cloaked in magical wards designed to conceal auras, she would soon find herself in a different sort of danger.
She decided to take her chances with Darien Cassel, so she mentally kissed her normal life goodbye and swung open the door.
Darien was talking on the phone, an elbow propped up on his open window. He didn’t spare Loren a glance as she got in, her legs like jelly as she collapsed onto the air-conditioned seat. It took her a second to gain the courage to close the door behind her, sealing off a gust of wind that carried the hint of creosote and hot asphalt.
The interior of the car had that fresh-off-the-lot, new-leather smell, with faint undertones of candle smoke and tobacco, and the even fainter hint of a mouth-watering cologne that screamed masculinity and sex appeal.
Darien abruptly ended his call and threw his phone onto the dash. Loren watched with wide, unblinking eyes as he pushed the gearshift into drive, flicked on the turn signal, and studied the reflection of the steady traffic in the wing mirror, never once hitting the button that would lock all the doors and trap her in the car. At least…notyet.
“How was your shift?” he said, as if he was picking her up for a date. As if she hadn’t been in mortal peril four hours ago and he’d somehow decided it would be worth his time to save her neck instead of killing her himself. She wondered how wealthy he was if he could pass up three million gold mynet as though it were pocket change. The thought wasn’t comforting, for it only confirmed her fears that she was walking into a trap, so she blocked it from her mind and forced herself to breathe.Breathe.
“Fine.” She set her purse on the floor of the car. “Where are you planning on taking me?”
“My house.” He pulled out into the street before Loren could object, the sudden acceleration flattening her against the seat.
She fumbled for her seatbelt with shaking hands and buckled it. “I’m guessing that means you’re taking me to Hell’s Gate.” Hell’s Gate was the name the underworld had given to the dwelling of the Seven Devils.
“Yes.”
